high in the tree
bright orange persimmon
… ready for Jen
a splash of color
spotting a ripe persimmon
on a grey day
falling from the tree
– wind storm
(c) G.s.k. ’14
Writing for Carpe Diem Haiku Kai, we had a prompt using “persimmons” (here’s the link to the haiku series) a typical Japanese autumn kigo … Jen has never tasted one, so I thought I’d tell her that, at least here they’re ripening!
Thoughts About Persimmons …
This morning I was thinking about persimmons. Here in Trentino, as indeed most of northern Italy, you can find persimmon trees all over the place. In private or public gardens they abound and when it’s persimmon season the ground under the trees are often covered with this delicious fruit.
The persimmon is a delicate fruit which looks kind of like an orange tomato. Some new breeds have a thicker skin, but the classical persimmon is thin-skinned, it’s fruit reminds me of jelly and when ripe is very sweet with its own particular flavor.
You can find persimmons for sale for about 3 weeks to a month, then nothing until the next autumn. Often people just can’t gather all the fruit from their persimmon trees and so the garden becomes a lurid muck of rotting fruit, so people are usually happy if you’ll take some off their hands! They can’t be preserved and you can’t even make a decent jelly out of the fruit.
I think this is one of the few fruits that has defied our push to conquer nature. It refuses to comply, like apples or oranges. Not even the new breeds can be conserved for months on end like apples which have become the symbol of our region. Bravo for the persimmon tree! Of course the birds love this tree and no one chases them off.
Here are some photos of persimmon trees that can be found in Riva del Garda, Arco and in the fields around my house. Aren’t they cool in their stark leaflessness with only the fruit there to decorate the tree?
colorful sybil of winter
Using words only, take a snapshot of the experience. We’re looking forward to reading your imaginative scenes, sans photographs!
Walk into Town
The night before he’d said: “Tomorrow a walk?”
“Yes, why not, but early ok?” she replied.
It’s interesting how relative time is. For one person early is 6:00, for another it’s 9:00. They finally had their coats on and were out the door at 9:30.
The air was crisp, the sun not having tipped the mountain yet, gave its shaded light to the small village, but none of its warmth.
He’d pulled his hood up to protect his ears as they walked towards the fields, a short-cut from their village to the larger town lower in the Sarca Valley.
The icy gravel crunched under their feet. The fields were white with the early morning frost, with just a hint of the green that still resisted the first cold snap of the year. The grape vines looked like so many sacrificed skeletons tied to their poles through the fencing along the path between fields.
Most of the fruit trees no longer had any fruit or leaves they looked barren and sad, all that is except for the persimmon trees. The last of their broad leaves had fallen, but the yellow-orange fruit kept clinging to the branches. Something between modern art and a Japanese haiga. The fruit reminded them of bright-colored Christmas tree ornaments.
Frosted fields, a bit of green grass, orange persimmons and finally the golden sun that finally tipped the mountain. Ah what a perfect snapshot!
frosted morning walk
sun tips mountain top
trees bend to his majesty
ripe persimmons fall